30/12/06

♥this Fader best o' 06 list, via the blog of a New Yorker writer, makes me feel "culturally out of touch" in a way i feel perfectly comfortable with. but it still seems funny, and i am happy that young people are having fun.

♠ i am having a lot of fun slowly crawling thru bolaño's detectivos salvajes, just like Andy Shower Feelings wos before </seppuku>. he's surely finshed by now...i'm probably where he was then. it doesn't make me want to read poetry or start a magazine, but does make we want to google the names of internationally eccentric poets & writers, skim a wikipedia entry about them written in a language i don't speak, and then return to tha broad floppy galley. it's now pretty important to read sitting in front of a computer.

22/12/06

19/12/06

my housemate two wheels good-Nate is un buen tipo. congrats on the soy nugget mopUp. but did you really get a manicure? jus askin

i also give thanks to jfa chiasmatic, who has cradled to his bosom my party foul of stonedly d/l-ing Van Morrison and throwing it on at his b-day gathering, bless.

Andrew "Shower Feelings" Leland has been "threatening" to quit the crudefutures blog again lately. hmprh/blah, his choice. if he leaves, the "show" will go on, Molloy-style como siempre. mcMü, Borges y yo haven't had a business luncheon to discuss it, but maybe we would "replace" him (how could we REALLY, etc.). jenny davidson, jon leland, angela pacheco-ziak (sp?), or whomever—look out for unsolicited apps sliding under your digital doors. nah, dude.

15/12/06

14/12/06

I walked into the restroom and sat down. There was a hand-painted sign. It said, "you are being filmed by gaylordz". I read the sign a few times. It had been painted with a wide brush on eggshell-colored paper. I fingered my necklace. I got six or five hours of sleep last night. Owwerz of sleep, right? I drew a little period next to the question mark. I was nodding my head, rocking back and forth autistically. Fourth, artistically. A history text in my knapsack was all clean and cold. Snow on the ground, right. Novels in my knapsack. A Scottish friend bought drugs and had plans to do them with me tonight. A nervous energy built up and threatened to obliterate my concentration for the rest of the day. Later, in front of my terminal, I played the keyboard like a clavichord. I munched saltily on some fucken snaks. Leap year frozen in the break of dawn, right. Other students milled. Millllllled. Milled. Millllllllled. Milled. Milllllllllled. Milled. Milllllllled. Milled. Millllllllled, a pleated skirt torn asunder. The translator yawned, flirted, her pleated skirt caught up in the legs of her swivel chair. She offered me the remaining half of her tuna fish sandwich. We chatted. I bled. (Internally.) She glanced at the bookshelf above my terminal. Routestone, Nebbins, Klatch. "I've never heard of any of these authors," she remarked. "I found these books in a soggy box on the street three years ago. Took them in like a litter of kittens. Took care of them. They were already named when I got them. Still looking for a good home, if you want a few. Better to take several at once. Otherwise they get lonely. This one's the mama," I said, handing her Ekphrasis in the Widening Gyre by Koulos Hammurabi. "Thank you," she said, holding the book. It was swollen and filthy, same way I found it in the box that day. Only now it was dry.

12/12/06

One part of my old job that I sort of miss is the semi-annual (née quarter-annual) trip to Belgium. If I were still A.D. of Cabinet magazine, I'd be in Belgium right now, on press with issue 24. Maybe that's why I'm feeling sorta down and listless this week: I am not in Belgium! Here are some photos from my final work-trip to Brugge last June:

Gummy hamburger in fictional fast-food sleeve

Old man with L.A. Gear backpack in queue for frites

LACKPARD ballcap

Comic Sans slogan lunchboxes

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